


issues (you got them too)

by BloodInTheFields



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, will probably be adding more characters as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodInTheFields/pseuds/BloodInTheFields
Summary: Heart beating wildly in her chest, Eve has to admit defeat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first WIP for this show. Let's see how it goes.

It’s the mad feeling of being alive that worries Eve the most. Not the gesture itself, not that she was capable of doing it. But the euphoria it procured her scares her shitless. She wonders if she would have felt the same had she stabbed someone else. Not her, not… Oksana, or Villanelle. Eve keeps going back and forth between the two names. She doesn’t know which one she prefers, which one _she_ prefers.

 

It takes a second for her to vanish. How she does it, Eve has no idea. But in a blink, leaving blood and betrayal behind, Villanelle disappears. Adrenaline still rushing through her veins, Eve wipes her hands on her shirt and pushes the old lady out of her way. She hurries down the stairs and reaches for the door. There’s a bloody handprint on it and Eve stares at it for a fraction of time before she remembers herself and forces her legs to move forward. Out into the street, she looks to her left, to her right.

 

Heart beating wildly in her chest, Eve has to admit defeat.

 

Villanelle is gone.

 

__

 

_I really liked you._

 

Eve wonders when she’ll stop obsessing over those words. If she’ll ever stop. If the scene will ever stop replaying itself in her mind. Over and over, day and night, again and again. She hadn’t expected that.

 

She sighs, puts her head in her hands and sighs again, deeper. The debriefing after the Paris debacle had been one hell of a mess. Carolyn had looked at Eve with such cold eyes and spoken with a tone Eve wouldn’t so soon forget. And now, Eve finds herself suspended and with nothing to put her energy into.

 

So of course the only thing she can do is think about Villanelle.

 

Niko doesn’t even answer her calls anymore. It’s like he can’t stand the sound of her, let alone the sight. Eve misses him a lot.

 

She knows it’s incredibly fucked up that she somehow misses the psychopath more. Not in the same way, no. She loves Niko and he’s too good for her, and Eve thinks she’s too broken for him.

 

But Villanelle is something else. Someone Eve hates with every fiber of her being and yet yearns for. It took weeks for Eve to face the truth that the yearning isn’t just platonic. It’s part fascination with the life Oksana lives and part infatuation with the character that she can’t seem to crush. She remembers Oksana’s eyes on her, watching her as she slid out of a soaked dress. The way her fingers had brushed against the skin of her back, how charged the moment had been. How scared she’d been for her life and yet had never felt so alive.

 

Niko, bless his heart, could never compete with that.

 

_I really liked you._

 

It fucks her up to think that maybe, in a very, very twisted way, Eve really liked her back.

 

__

 

The dreams don’t leave her alone. They’re more or less the same, night after night. Bill’s eyes frozen in terror, blood pooling around him. Frank’s lifeless body clad in a dress she had worn before him. Villanelle. Always Villanelle. Eve thinks she’s going mad.

 

__

 

Eve receives the divorce papers in the mail one morning, a bit over six months since the last time she saw Niko. Her heart squeezes in her chest, but she knows it’s for the best. So Eve signs the papers and sends them back. Her boxes, packed, are waiting for her in the living room. It should hurt, to say goodbye to this life. It was a good life. It was safe. It should hurt.

 

It doesn’t.

 

__

 

She’s been in Italy for three weeks when the postcard comes in. It’s slipped under the door of her hotel room while she’s in the shower. Eve notices it when she comes out, in her robe. Instinctively, she knows. The postcard is of the small town where she’s staying. With trepidation, Eve turns it around to find what’s written on it.

 

A bloody fingerprint. And one word.

 

_Hello_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, I'm posting chapter 2 now but the next one will take more time to come. Hope you enjoy!

No one at the reception desk has seen anything, or can tell her anything about who dropped off the postcard. Eve, frantic, shoves her stuff into her suitcase and gets the hell out of town as fast as her car allows her, eyes doing a back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror.

 

__

 

_Hello_

_Hello_

_Hello_

 

The postcards keep coming. Wherever Eve goes, she follows. There is no escaping her. Eve tries for a while, but it’s pointless. Oksana always finds her, always taunts her. Keeps her on edge. Eve isn’t sure how long she can keep doing this game of cat and mouse. It’s sick. Twisted.

 

Like the knife she twisted in Villanelle’s guts.

 

It always comes back to this.

 

The blood on Eve’s hands. The look in Oksana’s eyes. The painful sounds she’d made.

 

_It hurts._

 

Even thinking of Bill isn’t quite enough now to keep Eve’s anger alive. Hatred is long gone. What Eve feels now, well. Fear is a given. Remorse, however, is a surprise.

 

__

 

When she wakes up in Marseille, Villanelle is leaning against the door, arms crossed, watching her. Eve doesn’t scream or throw the nearest object at her head. She stares at her, eyes squinting in the aggressive morning light, and waits.

 

Oksana hasn’t changed much. She looks thinner but Eve knows looks can be deceiving. Her cat-like eyes never leave Eve’s. It’s nothing like it used to be. They’re cold, and calculating.

 

“How long have you been here,” Eve ends up asking to break the tension.

“A while,” Villanelle replies evenly.

 

Eve considers what to say next, because it doesn’t look like Villanelle’s going to make conversation, but she can’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound dumb. Sorry I stabbed you? Sorry I ruined the moment? Sorry I was out of my mind?

 

“Do you want to have breakfast?”

 

By the raise of an eyebrow on Oksana’s face, Eve realizes she’s the one who just spoke.

 

“I’m nervous,” she explains with a shrug.

“You should be. I’m feeling a little stabby today.”

 

Eve’s heart skips a beat and, despite herself, her eyes look to the side, where the window is. With Villanelle blocking the door, this is her only escape route should things go South.

 

“Relax,” Villanelle says with a laugh. “It’s just a joke. I’m not going to stab you. Yet.”

“Why are you here,” Eve finally snaps.

“Someone’s cranky,” Villanelle mocks as she takes a step forward and comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

 

Instinctively, Eve retracts her legs under the sheets and crosses them as she straightens up in bed.

 

“Are we ordering room service? I could eat. Eggs and bacon and sausages. I don’t know how they make them here,” Villanelle wonders out loud. “What do you want? You look like you need coffee.”

 

Playing nice is Eve’s only card at the moment and from the confidence Oksana exudes, she knows it too. So Eve nods and agrees to coffee.

 

“Perfect! I’ll make the call while you get ready. We’re leaving after breakfast!”

 

__

 

Breakfast is awkward. Villanelle wolfs down full plates that make Eve nauseous while she sips her hot beverage nervously. They don’t talk, but they eye each other warily. Eve wishes things could be different. Once they’re done, she packs up her things, careful to never turn her back to Villanelle, who waits for her by the door. Eve’s heading for the reception desk when a hand on her shoulder stops her.

 

“I already paid,” Villanelle says. “Let’s go.”

 

Eve doesn’t protest.

 

__

 

The car ride is silent for all of two minutes before Eve turns in her seat and starts asking questions.

 

“What am I doing here? What do you want from me? Are you bringing me somewhere quiet to kill me and then bury my body? Is there a shovel in the trunk? Oh God, there is, isn’t there?”

 

Villanelle just smirks.

 

“Tell me right now or I will crash this car.”

“There is no shovel,” is all the other woman concedes.

 

Eve starts plotting her escape.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter isn't finished yet; I like living on the edge.

They stop over an hour later at a gas station along the highway and Eve pretexts a bathroom emergency to get away from Villanelle. She locks herself in the tiny restroom of the stinky little shop and fumbles around in her pockets to find her cellphone. It’s not there.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Of course Villanelle would have found a way to get it from her. Eve looks around and spots the window. It’s small and there are cobwebs that definitely shouldn’t be here if the place was cleaned regularly. But Eve can fit through it. She looks at the closed door behind her and makes a decision. It’s now or never.

 

She hoists herself up on the sink and prays it holds as she reaches for the window and opens it slowly. It’s old and it creaks and it’s not discreet at all. Eve looks back at the door and prays Oksana hasn’t followed her inside and isn’t waiting for her right outside. Then she takes a deep breath, exhales shakily and forces her body weight onto her arms. It’s not the easiest thing to do and Eve promises herself that if she gets out of this situation alive, she’ll hit the gym. But with a little effort and absolutely no grace, Eve manages to slip the first half of her body through the window.

 

“Shit,” she whispers as she realizes her landing in this position will not be ideal.

 

It takes her another minute but Eve ends up on the dusty ground, hands and knees dirty. She adjusts her shoes and gets up, uselessly wiping at her clothes.

 

“Okay Eve, okay. Now what?”

 

A car. She needs a car. Quickly, Eve scans the parking lot of the station. There aren’t many options. The good news is that Villanelle is nowhere in sight, which means she might be inside, no doubt buying greasy food to stuff her face with. Eve needs to act. She spots a car, nothing fancy nor flashy, perfectly parked so that no one from inside could see her. Eve runs towards it. She knows how to break into a car, she’s done it once before, a long time ago. And this particular vehicle is definitely not equipped with an alarm so she should be fine. Eve crouches next to the driver’s door and looks around. Still no one. She tries the door handle and, to her surprise, it opens.

 

“Well, that’s lucky,” she rejoices as she slides into the driver’s seat.

 

It should only take a moment to get the car to start now. Eve begins fiddling with the wires.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Eve startles at the sound of a voice coming from behind her. Stunned, she turns in the seat and finds herself facing a smiling Villanelle.

 

“What the fuck,” she asks, half-yelling. “How did you—”

“Do I look like a baby to you?”

“What?”

“Do I look like a baby;” Oksana repeats, irritated.

“I… No?”

“No, because I was not born yesterday as you people say,” she explains. “I knew you would try to run away. I knew you’d need a car for that, so I thought “What would Eve pick?” and I thought you’d go for the lamest, ugliest one.”

“That’s…”

 

Not entirely inaccurate, actually. Eve stares at Villanelle, struggling to find something to say. But the assassin waves her gun in front of her and reaches for the door handle.

 

“Come on now. No time to lose. Unless you want the poor owner of this garbage car to have his brains—”

“No! Nope, it’s fine, let’s just…”

  
Eve exits the car and slams its door shut, barely in time before Oksana grabs her by the collar and flattens her against it. They haven’t been this close since the last time they were in this position, against Eve’s fridge, in what now seems like another lifetime. Eve is all too aware of the barrel of the gun pressing against her abdomen. Villanelle’s eyes bore into hers and Eve can feel the anger just beneath the surface.

 

“If you ever try that again, I _will_ kill you.”

 

And somehow, Eve knows she means it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna talk about the show? Hit me up @/blood-inthefields on Tumblr.

They end up somewhere in the middle of France, where it’s quiet and peaceful. Villanelle stops the car in front of a house, remote and lost in the middle of countless fields. Eve knows she could die here and no one would ever find her.

 

“You know work’s going to be sending someone after me,” she says, breaking the silence that’s been enveloping them since the gas station. “I was supposed to be back tomorrow. Obviously I won’t make it, so…”

“They won’t find you here.”

“You managed to find me,” Eve points out.

 

Villanelle just scoffs. In the trunk of their car, she takes out Eve’s suitcase and a bag that Eve didn’t even know was there.

 

“What about the car,” she asks. “It’s a rental. You don’t keep rentals.”

“Don’t worry about the car.”

 

Eve’s frustration is at an all-time high. The other woman is giving her nothing. She’s impassible and unreadable and it irks her to no end. She follows Villanelle into the house—briefly wondering who it belongs to—and then impulsively grabs her by the elbow. Oksana looks murderous for a fraction of second before she collects herself and drops the suitcase and bag to the floor.

 

“What,” she asks, annoyed with Eve.

“I want to know what’s going on. You’re not here to kill me, obviously, or I’d be dead already. So what the hell, Oksana? Tell me, or I’m walking out that door right now.”

 

When it’s clear that Oksana isn’t going to talk, Eve panics for a moment. She wants to make good on her threat but the warning she received earlier that day about not trying to escape again resonates in her mind. Still, she takes a step back, then another. Villanelle doesn’t move, but she watches intently, almost daring Eve to keep going. So Eve does. She’s near the door when Villanelle speaks up.

 

“If you leave, I can’t protect you anymore and you’ll be dead within a week.”

 

Well. At least that has the merit to stop Eve dead in her tracks.

 

__

 

They sit around the small table in the kitchen. The wooden chairs are anything but comfortable and Eve wonders if she can suggest barbecuing them, and then if doing a barbecue with a psychopath around is even a good idea. Maybe not. Villanelle has a cup of hot coffee between her hands, and it doesn’t appear to be burning her even though Eve can see it’s still fuming.

 

“Why would the Twelve want to kill me? I’m nobody.”

“You’re looking into their business.”

“I’m not. I _was_ , but… not anymore. I’ve been reassigned.”

“Then you know too much,” Oksana says with a shrug. “They know you’re obsessed with me, so…”

“I am _not_.”

“You are. You soooo are,” she taunts, eyes opening wide in mocking grimace.

 

Eve wants to slap her.

 

“Can’t you just tell them I stabbed you and I think you died in a ditch or something?”

 

Villanelle’s expression darkens.

 

“They know you stabbed me. Maybe that’s why they want you dead! Because you hurt me, yes? I’m their golden child,” she boasts.

“Then why are you here protecting me instead of making your daddies proud,” Eve asks her, sarcasm evident in her voice, but with a curiosity she can’t deny.

 

But Villanelle remains quiet and that makes Eve even more determined to get to the bottom of this.

 

“What? What aren’t you telling me?”

 

Oksana drinks from her cup, deliberately slowly. Eve could punch her.

 

“They didn’t send me,” she finally admits.

 

She sounds almost displeased and disappointed with that. As if Eve was someone, something only Villanelle could have access to. As if she was hers to hunt down and kill.

 

“Then how do you know?”

“Whispers, here and there…”

“Who’s coming after me? Since when?”

“I don’t know. Someone like me. A month or so.”

 

It coincides with the first postcard she received.

 

“The postcards, were they yours?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To keep you moving. See if I could pick up the trail of the assassin they sent.”

“Why do you even care?”

 

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Eve hates that she needs to know the answer. Villanelle should hate her, and want her dead. Hell, she probably does on some very high level. So why would she risk her own safety and life to protect Eve? Apparently, Villanelle doesn’t have the answer herself, because she takes another sip of her coffee and then gets up and throws the rest in the sink.

 

“I’m going to shower,” she announces.

 

But then she simply stands there and Eve sits back in her chair.

 

“What? Am I supposed to come with you to the bathroom? Do you want me to wash your hair?”

 

The ghost of a smile appears on Oksana’s face.

 

“I’m sure you would enjoy that. I have very pretty hair.”

“I won’t run away,” Eve assures her, not taking the obvious, flirty bait. “You can shower in peace. I’ll just explore the house and find a bedroom.”

 

Villanelle nods and disappears with no further comment. Eve watches her go, then shakes her head and sets off in search of a bed where she could take a nap. Barely a couple of minutes later, Eve’s fists tighten at her sides as she realizes that there is only one bedroom… and only one bed.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's time to mention I'm not a native English speaker so if you find any grammar/spelling mistake, you can let me know!

When Oksana appears in the bedroom with her bag in her hand and a mere towel wrapped around her body, a cascade of wet hair framing her bare face, Eve’s breath catches in her throat. She’s been lounging on the bed, thinking about who she can trust back home and if it’s safe for her to reach out and she absolutely has not been expecting Villanelle to show up like _this_.

 

“Couldn’t you get dressed in the bathroom,” she hisses, trying to look anywhere but at the woman parading in front of her.

“My clothes are in the room,” Oksana explains as she opens the wardrobe and takes out a blouse and a pair of jeans.

“You put your clothes in someone’s wardrobe?!”

“Oh, this is my house,” she says casually, as if it’s an evidence.

“Wha—how many places do you own?”

“I don’t know,” Oksana replies, with a look over her shoulder. “Many.”

 

She drops the towel then and Eve has to hide her face in her hands. The woman really has no shame or modesty.

 

“Don’t be such a prude,” she mocks. “I am wearing underwear.”

“I do not need, nor do I want, to see your body.”

“Okay. All good now.”

 

Eve drops her hand and squeals as Villanelle stands right in front of her, still undressed. She squeals partly because of the surprise, but also because her eyes immediately drop to the scar on Villanelle’s abdomen. It’s a reddish line, rather thin—thinner than Eve would have thought it’d be—and it contrasts with the smooth, pale skin of her body. Eve can’t help herself: she stares.

 

“I considered getting a tattoo to cover it,” Oksana confides, her voice oddly subdued.

“Why didn’t you,” Eve asks in the same hushed tone.

“It reminds me of you.”

 

The words actually hit something deep in Eve and she struggles to find a suitable answer to that, but it turns out Villanelle is not done talking.

 

“Of your betrayal. It reminds me I owe you one.”

 

And then she grabs her clothes on the bed and she’s gone, leaving a dumbfounded Eve behind.

 

__

 

Dinner is a simple affair. Eve comes back to the kitchen after an hour of hanging out alone in the bedroom, trying to put some order in her thoughts, and there are two plates on the table. Oksana is putting pasta in a colander that finds its place in the middle of the table and she motions for Eve to sit down.

 

“The plat du jour is pasta with butter. I didn’t have time to go grocery shopping.”

“That’s fine.”

 

As if she could be hungry anyway. Oksana digs in as if she were starving and Eve watches in fascination and disgust. When the other woman looks up, she hurriedly shoves some pasta in her mouth and attempts a half-smile. It seems to satisfy Villanelle, who goes back to wolfing down the content of her plate.

 

Gross.

 

__

 

“Won’t the Twelve find us here? I mean, what if they figure out I’m staying with you,” Eve asks as they sit on the patio outside, some time after dinner.

“They can’t. They don’t know that I own this house. They don’t know everything about me.”

“But you’re still working for them.”

 

Oksana looks away, crinkles appearing around her eyes as she takes in the reddish clouds in the sky. They’ve just missed the sunset.

 

“Yes,” she says tightly.

 

She doesn’t sound pleased with the fact and it intrigues Eve. She makes a mental note to come back to it later.

 

“So you have a new handler? Since Konstantin is dead?”

 

Another pause.

 

“It’s different now. The handler only sends me an email with the information I need.”

“Why didn’t they give you a new handler like Konstantin?”

“They did. I killed him because he was annoying. Real prick,” she says flippantly.

 

It shouldn’t make Eve want to laugh but she struggles to hide a smile.

 

“I bet the Twelve weren’t too happy about that.”

 

Villanelle smirks.

 

“No, I don’t think they were. But now they know better.”

“How long am I going to stay here? I have a life I need to get back to.”

“What life,” Oksana scoffs. “Boring desk job? No husband? Only a couple of friends?”

“You killed my best friend, asshole.”

 

She says it with no real bite in her tone. She’s too tired to go over this again. Nothing will ever make up for what Villanelle did to him anyway. Eve just wants to move on. She gets up, sees that Oksana looks at her quizzically.

 

“I’m going to shower, and then I’m going to bed. You can enjoy the couch.”

 

She doesn’t wait for a protest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are there not more fans of this show?

When Eve wakes up in the morning, after tossing and turning in bed all night long, it is to the sight of honey colored hair hiding the morning light filtering through the curtains. She blinks once, twice, and freezes.

 

“Oksana?”

 

The assassin is dead to the world in the early hours of sunrise. Eve is torn between the sudden urge to kick her out of bed and the crippling fear of being murdered if she dares to wake her up. She settles for trying to sneak out of bed as silently as she can, which, with her, means not at all. Her feet get caught in the sheets and she ends up almost falling face first onto the plush carpet. She catches herself in time though, and glances at the woman still fast asleep a couple of feet away. Oksana seems to be a heavy sleeper. Eve sighs in relief and rubs her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, Oksana is staring at her, very much awake and alert. Shit.

 

“Why did you sleep in the bed,” Eve asks.

 

She cringes internally. She hadn’t meant to say that. Villanelle looks confused.

 

“It’s my bed?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

 

They stare at each other.

 

“I just thought you’d take the couch.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m… your guest?”

“So?”

 

Obviously this is very confusing for Villanelle and Eve wants to throw her hands up in the air and yell in frustration. She doesn't.

 

“Weren’t you afraid I’d stab you in my sleep or something?”

 

She knows she’s playing with fire. She can’t help it. The wolfish smile she receives in return is enough to make her reconsider.

 

“I never get into bed with someone without frisking them beforehand,” Oksana declares. “Usually they are naked so I don’t need to search for long.”

“You—you _touched_ me while I slept?”

 

Oksana tries to keep her serious but Eve’s face must be something funny because she bursts out laughing, like a child.

 

“No, I didn’t, Eve Polastri. I searched your stuff while you were in the shower.”

“That’s still invasive!”

“You stabbed me once,” Oksana reminds her with a shrug. “And we’re going to be sleeping together a lot so…”

 

This is the moment Eve should leave the room. She knows it is. She sees the mischievous grin on Villanelle’s face, she’s aware that the woman is trying to make her uncomfortable and Eve should just shrug it off and go, but she can’t. If she shows how those words affect her, Villanelle won’t stop teasing her. And Eve might just end up murdering her to make her stop. She settles for a change of topic, sort of.

 

“Why didn’t you just buy another bed? There are plenty of rooms in the house.”

“I don’t have a lot of people coming over,” Villanelle points out as she sits up in bed and stretches her arms.

 

Only then does Eve notice that Villanelle is only wearing a tank top, and the air is cool. Her eyes drift down despite herself, and she gulps. This is so _not_ something she should feel. She blames it on her lack of sex of the past months.

 

“I’ll go make breakfast,” she announces, completely forgetting that the fridge is empty.

 

Anything to get out of this room.

 

__

 

Villanelle takes her to the village where she says there’s a café. It’s rather quiet at this hour. They choose a table in the back and order coffee and croissants. Eve makes an obscene sound when she takes her first bite. Villanelle looks at her, half amused, half in awe. If Eve feels somewhat self-conscious about it, she doesn’t let it show on her face. She holds Oksana’s gaze as she drinks from her tiny cup of coffee, then calls the waiter with a wave of the hand to order another croissant.

 

“You haven’t finished the first one,” Oksana remarks.

“They’re really good.”

“Oh I heard.”

 

Eve reaches across the table and smacks her on the arm, and Villanelle just laughs. It shouldn’t be this easy. To forget who Oksana really is, what she does. What she’s done. Being around her shouldn’t be so effortless, and they most certainly should not be bantering and bickering, and Eve doesn’t know what to do with all of it. She just wants to leave everything behind, walk out that door and disappear in the French countryside. But she knows Villanelle would follow. There is something that would compel her to do so.

 

The waiter interrupts Eve’s train of thoughts when he brings the croissant on a small plate and smiles.

 

“That’ll be one euro, please,” he says with a thick French accent.

 

Villanelle slides a coin toward him without sparing him a glance; eyes oddly staring at Eve’s lips.

 

“What,” she asks.

“You have a little something just… here,” Villanelle tells her as she extends a hand to wipe at Eve’s upper lip.

 

Too slow to react, Eve lets her do it. There is actually a crumb of her pastry, as Oksana shows her on her thumb before she crushes it into tiny little crumbs on the napkin. Eve decides that’s enough weird foreplay for one morning and she sits back into her chair resolutely.

 

“So.”

“So?”

“Tell me about the Twelve. Everything you know.”

“Over breakfast?”

 

Oksana looks and sounds offended.

 

“If not now, when?”

 

It’s a rhetorical question, really, but of course the younger woman would ignore that.

“If you’re going to ask a woman about her personal history, the least you can do is treat her to dinner,” she says dramatically, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“I’m serious. I am not going to play house with you until they find me and kill me. If that’s even true.”

 

There’s a change in Villanelle’s attitude then. She sits up straighter and leans forward, elbows on the table. Eve imitates her compulsively.

 

“Fine. We can talk about that. But you will answer a question I have first, yes?”

 

There’s a catch. With her, there’s always a catch. Eve wants to rip her head off, but she settles for a sigh and a nod, waiting for the inevitably rude or crude joke coming her way.

 

“Once I am done saving your life, will you have sex with me?”

 

Of course that’s where her mind would go.

 

“Fuck you,” Eve deadpans.

“Yes, yes. That’s the idea. Will you?”

“I would rather stab myself in the vagina with a fork.”

 

Villanelle throws her head back and laughs heartily, a hand slapping her thigh and the other grabbing Eve’s wrist.

 

“Oh, Eve,” she manages to utter once her laughter dies down, “you know that can be arranged.”

 

And there it is, the dangerous glint in her eyes, that little something that never fails to remind Eve exactly who she’s dealing with. No doubt Villanelle would hurt her like that if she so desired. Eve had broken her trust once, and there was a strong possibility she’d never earn it back. Suddenly the air in the room feels too thick and stifling. Eve needs to get out of here.

 

“I am taking my croissants and going for a walk,” she announces as she gets up.

“Really? We were just beginning to have fun!”

“Fuck you,” Eve repeats, already walking away.

“Whenever you want,” Oksana yells after her.

 

Eve almost throws a croissant at her head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life's hard.

France is beautiful, Eve notices. The small, sinuous roads in the village and between endless fields are so wildly different from what she’s used to in London. She can see cows in the distance, and even goats. Eve doesn’t think she’s ever seen a real goat before. She walks around, getting acquainted with the neighborhood. She’s never been particularly fond of the countryside but the change of scenery is in fact rather pleasant at the moment. If only…

 

“We should buy chickens.”

 

… she wasn’t stuck with a psychopathic killer.

 

“We are not buying chickens. They freak me out.”

“Chickens freak you out,” Villanelle repeats, skeptical.

“Yeah.”

“That’s so dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

 

Eve puts the last bit of her croissant in her mouth as they walk back to the car. Idly, she wonders how long they’ll be staying here and if she’ll have time to pick up some French. She’s only got vague memories from school. Head resting against the cold window of the car, Eve takes in the landscape as Oksana drives them back to the house. As reckless as Eve reckons Oksana is in her daily life, she’s a surprisingly careful and attentive driver. She makes it her mission to avoid bumps and potholes on their way back. Eve would thank her if she didn’t hate her guts.

 

__

 

Once they reach the house, Eve jumps out of the car before it’s come to a full stop and ignores Villanelle, heading straight for the cellar. The fridge may be empty, but the cellar isn’t. She picks a bottle of rosé, which is something she’s only recently discovered she likes, and makes her way to the kitchen to pick up a glass and a bottle opener before settling down on a plush chair on the patio. She’s halfway through the first glass when Villanelle plops down on the chair next to hers with a heavy sigh, meant to demand Eve’s attention. So naturally, Eve glances at her questioningly.

 

“There are the assassins, like me,” Villanelle starts, “then the handlers like Konstantin.”

 

Eve has known for a while about Konstantin. It makes her wonder just how much Carolyn knows about him and his involvement with the Twelve. How much Carolyn herself is involved, if she is a double agent like him, but for the opposite side.

 

“The handlers don’t know shit. Konstantin mentioned keepers and said only they know the names of the Twelve.”

 

Carolyn could be a keeper, Eve thinks. She’d met with Villanelle at the prison and Eve still has no idea why. Yes, Carolyn has to know more than she wants Eve to believe.

 

“I suppose Konstantin didn’t know any keeper?”

“No. Or so he said.”

“Hmm.”

 

A thought occurs to her.

 

“The old lady in Paris, could she know something?”

“That old hag,” Villanelle says with contempt. “I don’t know. Maybe. I doubt it. She’s old.”

“You’ll get old one day too, you know.”

 

Villanelle scoffs and runs a hand through her hair. Eve studies her quietly. She knows what the scoff means: someone like Villanelle doesn’t age. Won’t age. She refuses to acknowledge the twinge of sadness that suddenly rips through her and drinks more wine instead.

 

“Do you still have it? The apartment in Paris?”

 

They haven’t talked about what happened there yet. Eve isn’t quite sure it’s a good idea to even bring it up, but it’s too late now anyway. Villanelle’s eyes land on her, and Eve pretends not to feel the intensity of her stare.

 

“No. It was compromised.”

“Right.”

 

Elena probably told someone at MI6, possibly Carolyn. Of course the apartment is compromised. Elena. Eve should probably call her at some point. Which reminds her…

 

“You still have my phone.”

“No I don’t.”

“What?”

“I threw it away,” Villanelle explains with a shrug. “I did not want your little colleague to trace it.”

“They need to know I’m okay,” Eve insists. “Or they’ll send people after me.”

 

She’s not actually sure that would happen. Carolyn did fire her once, before hiring her back and sticking her behind a desk with a pile of boring cases that Eve doesn’t miss. Maybe Carolyn is working with the Twelve, and maybe she’ll think Eve is dead if she doesn’t show up to work. Or maybe Eve is completely off-base. She doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

 

“You can write a postcard from Brussels. I am going there in three days. Tell them you’re okay.”

 

There’s no need to ask what she’ll be doing there.

 

“Are you going to leave me here? Alone?”

“You will be safe.”

“I could just… pack up and leave.”

“I could tie you to a chair and gag you. I’ll be gone a day or two, you wouldn’t starve.”

 

Villanelle looks like she’s actually considering it.

 

“I think I’ll behave,” Eve says tiredly. “How do I get a postcard from Brussels here?”

“I have plenty of those in the house.”

“You… you have postcards from Brussels? Here?”

“From many cities. I like postcards.”

“Oh. Okay.”

 

Later that day, Oksana hands her a beautiful postcard and Eve stares at it for a long time before deciding what to write. It’s rather short and full of shit about how she’s enjoying a vacation through a few European countries and how she’s not sure when she’ll be back. She throws in a nice “I miss you” at the end and jots down Elena’s address. Oksana makes a show of reading it out loud, to Eve’s great displeasure, and laughs as if this is the best joke she’s ever read.

 

“Asshole,” Eve mutters.

“No, no, it’s cute! I like it!”

“Whatever. Just send it.”

“I will. Promise.”

 

__

 

They avoid each other for most of the day. Eve, bottle of wine in hand, decides to go for a hike. She doesn’t wait for Villanelle’s permission. It’s not like much can happen to her in the middle of nowhere. Dressed in plain jeans and a light sweatshirt, she opts for the pathway that begins behind the house. She walks for about half an hour before she realizes it’s not actually leading to anything other than fields. There’s a forest in the distance. Three miles, Eve surmises. But she can’t go now and risk suffering the wrath of Villanelle. The assassin would probably come looking for her and, in a fit of rage, murder her for being reckless and venturing out alone. She decides it’s safer to walk back. The wine’s gone to her head anyway.

 

She finds Villanelle in one of the bedrooms converted into a gym. There’s a treadmill, an exercise bike, some weights and mats on the floor. Villanelle is doing a series of sit-ups when Eve comes in. She doesn’t even look up.

 

“Where were you,” she asks.

“Out for a walk. Shouldn’t we go grocery shopping? Wine’s only going to sustain me for so long.”

“Yes. I will be done soon.”

 

Villanelle switches to push-ups and, when Eve makes no move to leave the room, she lets out a chuckle.

 

“Naughty Eve, you like seeing me all sweaty don’t you?”

“Ugh, you are insufferable. I was just watching your technique, but fine, I’m going to take a nap.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to enjoy the free show?”

 

The door slams behind Eve.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but I'm not giving up on this story!
> 
> Let me know what you think.

Over the next three days, their cohabitation goes like this: Eve wants to kill Villanelle approximately fourteen times. Villanelle tries to get a reaction out of her—be it anger or a laugh—every time they speak. She baits Eve at every turn, and sometimes Eve falls for it, sometimes not. They cook side by side one night, and even if Eve’s eyes never stray too far from the knife in Villanelle’s hands, they end up making an amazing pork roast with potatoes. Eve always goes to bed first. It’s as if they have an unspoken agreement: she pretends not to know that Villanelle will join her later, slip under the sheet and share the comfortable mattress with her. In the morning, Eve wakes up and leaves the room as quietly as possible to make breakfast. She’s still terrible at it. Villanelle says nothing about her cooking skills and eats with gusto the burnt toasts with strawberry jam.

 

Overall, it goes pretty smoothly, given the circumstances. Eve doesn’t ask about Villanelle’s next assignment. It’s none of her business, not anymore. Villanelle comes back one afternoon with a pair of burner phones and hands one to Eve. “Just in case,” she says.

 

The night before she has to leave for Brussels, the assassin suggests they watch a movie together. Eve is reminded of a conversation they had, once.

 

_Someone to watch movies with._

 

She accepts.

 

__

 

It turns out, Villanelle is quite intense when it comes to movies. Not in a loud, can’t-help-but-comment way, no. She just stares at the screen, almost unblinkingly, for close to two hours. It’s like she’s absorbing the story, as if she’d die if she missed a second of it. Eve is more enthralled by her than the actual movie. It’s an old Hollywood movie that Eve’s only ever heard of and that is of no interest to her. Oksana, on the other hand, is riveted. She looks her age in that moment, she’s just a twenty-six year old woman watching a movie on a couch. Maybe this is really what she wants, Eve wonders. When the credits roll, Villanelle sighs and stretches lazily before turning towards Eve.

 

“I loved it,” she whispers reverently, almost in awe.

“I know,” Eve tells her.

 

Villanelle nods, as if it makes perfect sense to her, and she turns the TV off with the remote. A moment of silence, and then she’s up, bouncing on her feet.

 

“Alright! That was fun! We should do it again when I’m back!”

 

And just like that, the spell the movie had cast over Villanelle is gone. Eve is left to stare after the woman who struts to the kitchen to fix herself a sandwich.

 

__

 

The next morning, at the crack of dawn, Eve wakes up to the sight of Oksana packing a bag. She rubs her eyes and sighs, effectively catching Villanelle’s attention.

 

“Eve, hello. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Really? Did I say anything interesting?”

 

Villanelle zips up her bag and shrugs.

 

“Sounds like you had a nice dream. You were being naughty.”

“I—what?!” Eve chokes.

 

There’s no way…

 

“You said “Oksana please” a few times.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

 

Villanelle’s laugh is both endearing and maddening. Eve can’t believe she got played _again_. She throws her pillow at Villanelle’s head, hoping it doesn’t get her killed. But the younger woman ducks and laughs harder.

 

“You’re going to miss me while I’m gone,” she teases.

 

Eve scoffs.

 

“You wish.”

“You’ll see.”

 

__

 

On the first night without Villanelle, Eve gets drunk. She blasts music so loud that the windows shake lightly. She presses her cheek against one cold glass panel and closes her eyes, feeling the music wash over her. She hasn’t been this drunk since karaoke night with Nico, Bill and Elena, now a distant memory that Eve forces herself to push at the back of her mind. She doesn’t want to think about any of them. She wants to forget. Everything.

 

__

 

She wakes up with one hell of a hangover. In her drunken haze of the previous night, she forgot to close the curtains in the bedroom, and harsh sunlight comes through the window, blinding her and making her head pound.

 

“Fuck,” she moans, rolling over to bury her face in a pillow.

 

It smells like Villanelle.

 

“Fuuuck,” Eve whines, legs kicking the mattress.

 

This is so not something— _someone_ —she wants to think about now. Yet she doesn’t move. Inhaling as deeply as she can with her nose pressed in the comfy pillow, Eve eases back into sleep.

 

__

 

She gets bored mid-afternoon. The house could use a good cleaning but Eve’s not in the mood. Her head is still not quite right and she feels queasy. Lying on the couch is much, much more appealing. Her mind wanders and she finds herself pondering on her future. What is she going to do, now that she has an assassin for a roommate and an international mysterious organization tracking her down to kill her? She’s no agent, no matter how much she wishes. She’s powerless. The feeling is unnerving. Eve’s never considered herself a damsel in distress, mainly because it’s a fucking stupid concept to her, but…

 

Eve sits up on the couch; a thought suddenly making its way through the heavy fog clouding her mind. Villanelle should train her. She laughs, and laughs at the idea.

 

And then she’s standing upright, swaying on her feet, and puking all over the floor.

 

Well. Cleaning it is.

 

__

 

It’s on the third day that the bad feeling comes creeping in. Eve is watching TV when a shiver runs through her. She’s not cold, though. The room is pleasantly warm. The skin of her neck is prickling, and Eve turns off the TV, too unnerved to keep watching. She gets up and turns on all the lights in the house, one by one, not really sure why it’s something she feels she must do.

 

When her burner phone starts ringing on the coffee table, Eve startles and almost trips over herself in her attempt to grab it in time.

 

“Hello?”

“Eve, it’s me.”

“Oks—uh, hi.”

“You need to get out of the house,” Villanelle says, her voice urgent.

“What?”

 

There it is, Eve thinks. Dread. Fear. Villanelle sounds alarmed, even though her tone remains steady. This can’t be good.

 

“Listen to me. Go to the kitchen, get a knife. Then get out, find a field—a corn field maybe, and hide there. I’m on the way back, I…”

 

In the background, Eve hears a car honking, some indistinct yelling and Villanelle suddenly shouting expletives that would give a priest a heart attack. Eve rushes to the kitchen to find the biggest knife she can, and then the other woman is back on the line.

 

“I’ll find you, Eve, just get out of the house. They know about the house, it’s compromised, I think they sent someone a few days ago, just go—”

 

A loud crash somewhere behind her makes Eve drop the phone. It’s a window, she knows it’s a window that’s just been shattered. Eve picks up the phone and makes a beeline for the patio. With no idea if she can get out of here using a door, Eve does the only thing she can think of. She climbs up the pile of chairs on the patio and, with great difficulty and the feel of the blade pressing against her back, she hoists herself up on the roof and then lies on her stomach, hoping to make herself as discreet as possible.

 

“Eve? Eve!”

“I’m here,” she breathes shakily into the phone.

“What happened?”

“There’s someone here. How far away are you?”

“Ten minutes,” Oksana replies, no doubt stepping on the gas.

“Make it five,” Eve half-orders, half-begs.

“Are you out?”

“I’m on the roof.”

“On the… do you have a weapon?”

“A knife, yeah.”

“Good. I know you can use one of those.”

“Well it’ll be no good if the other person has a gun!”

“Just hold on, Eve.”

 

The next few minutes are excruciating, and Eve keeps the phone pressed to her ear even though she doesn’t say anything more, for fear of being discovered. Villanelle keeps telling her to hold on, like a mantra. If she repeats it to calm Eve or herself, Eve isn’t sure.

 

“Where are you,” she inquires after a long moment of silence.

 

She gets no answer. The house has gone quiet too. Eve’s bad feeling only intensifies. She’s about to ask again when she feels a presence behind her, and suddenly there’s a hand on her mouth, and Eve tries to scream.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worked my ass off to finish this chapter before the week-end and I did it with one day to spare! Yeehaw!

There hadn’t been many times in her life when Eve had felt helpless. There had never been, period. Not until she’d stumbled across Villanelle. That had thrown her off a cliff and since then, everything had the very vivid sensation of free-falling, diving face first into something intangible, scary and intoxicating.

 

At the exact moment Eve feels a hand on her mouth, she sees herself sitting behind a desk, dutifully filing paperwork for the MI5. She wants to scream for that old Eve to come back, wants to ask why this couldn’t be enough, why she had to go and get herself mixed up in some fucked up shit with a psychopath. But she can’t. The hand is pressed too tight against her lips and Eve can’t even attempt a bite.

 

She thrashes around, hoping to kick her assailant somewhere it would hurt, but an arm snakes around her waist and holds her firmly against the intruder’s warm and solid body. Eve inhales deeply through her nose and that’s when it hits her.

 

She knows that smell. Very well.

 

“It’s me, stop fighting!”

 

She definitely knows that voice. Her body goes still, then limp. She chances a glance to the side and is met with the sight of Villanelle’s throat and chin, and her lips are moving and saying something Eve can’t hear. She feels faint, adrenaline still pumping through her veins, hands still grabbing at the arm around her waist in an attempt to free herself.

 

“Calm down, it’s me,” Villanelle repeats in a murmur that she probably wants to be soothing but that is way too harsh due to her ragged breathing.

 

Her eyes are jumping from one point to another, never quite landing on anything, as she makes sure the intruder hasn’t heard them. Eve looks up at her, not quite believing she’s really here. Finally, Villanelle lets the hand on Eve’s mouth fall back to her side. She doesn’t step back though, keeping her other arm around Eve, as if to make sure Eve won’t vanish if she lets go. Eve doesn’t complain. She takes deep breaths, closes her eyes and lets her forehead rest against Villanelle’s cheek. Adrenaline is gone now, and Eve feels boneless and weary.

 

“It’s okay,” Oksana whispers, “it’s just me.”

 

A loud noise coming from the house below startles both of them and Villanelle’s body is back to being tense and taut, ready for a fight. She steps back, reaches into the back of her pants, and pulls out a gun. Eve mirrors her, reaching for her knife.

 

“No, you’re staying here,” Villanelle says when she sees the weapon in Eve’s hand. “I’m going down alone.”

 

Eve is about to protest when Villanelle comes up to her, so deep into her personal space that Eve can see the pearls of sweat rolling down her temples and throat. It dawns on her that she didn’t hear Villanelle’s car because the other woman must have dumped it a while back and ran the rest of the way to avoid alerting the intruder. She wonders if Villanelle’s ever had to run faster. If she’s ever willfully ran towards danger to save a life that wasn’t her own.

 

She must stay a while just staring in wonder because she realizes Villanelle’s slightly frowning at her.

 

“I can’t just stay here,” Eve finally argues in a harsh whisper.

“I can’t have you down there while I’m gutting the arsehole that broke into my house,” Villanelle retorts, her Russian accent slipping through. “You would slow me down.”

 

Eve hears the underlying meaning in those words. _I can’t focus on the threat if I have to worry about your safety_. She nods and Villanelle nods back, agreement tacitly reached. She’s left to watch as the assassin carefully makes her way down the rooftop and onto the patio, silent and graceful as a cat, deathly intent evident in the way she carries herself as she steps toward the sliding door and disappears inside.

 

The seconds tick away slowly and Eve starts pacing on the roof, praying they get out of this alive. She doesn’t know how many people are in the house. Maybe there are more than one and if so, can Villanelle fight them on her own?

 

“Shit,” Eve swears, “shit shit. Okay. Okay. Think.”

 

She knows the house by now. She’s spent the last week stuck here, she knows where to hide, where to find makeshift weapons like bottles of wine or knifes, she knows Oksana has handcuffs in the bedside table which is _not_ something she should be thinking about right now but maybe they can be useful…

 

Eve makes a decision. A very stupid decision that she regrets immediately but it’s too late. She’s already halfway down, feet trying to find the pile of chairs she used to get up on the roof.

 

__

 

She manages to make it to the kitchen, unseen. There’s noise upstairs now, sounds of a struggle. Eve grabs another knife—the sharpest one she can find—and with a blade in each hand, she rushes to the bedrooms.

 

The sight of blood on the door is jarring. Seeing Villanelle on the ground, struggling to hold her own against her masked assailant sitting on top of her, even more. She thinks of the last time Villanelle and blood were associated, the last time Villanelle was on her back with that awful red liquid pouring out of her… Eve screams and runs towards the attacker—a man—with one of her knife raised. He turns around at the sound of her, astonished, and Eve is stopped dead in her tracks as he pulls a gun in her face.

 

Time stills, and with it, the three figures in the dark bedroom.

 

“They said you were helping her,” the man speaks suddenly.

 

He’s turned towards Eve but addressing Villanelle.

 

“I didn’t want to believe them, but…”

 

He shakes his head and laughs, before looking down at Villanelle, who seems to be frozen. Her wide eyes are fixed on the gun pointed at Eve’s head.

 

“Now I get to bring both your heads with me. Imagine how pleased they will be.”

 

He speaks with no trace of an accent, Eve notes. She needs to think of something to distract him, anything that could give Villanelle some wiggle room to fight back.

 

“Why do they want me,” Eve asks the man.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “but they’re willing to pay a handsome price for you so…”

“How did they know where to find us? How did they track me?”

 

Buying time with questions is the only idea Eve has at the moment, but from the way Villanelle’s eyes are darting around the room, she is also looking for a solution. Eve prays she finds it quickly, because the game of twenty-questions will not hold the man’s attention for long.

 

“Oh they didn’t. They tracked her,” he smirks, gun now pointing at Villanelle’s head.

 

There’s that window Eve’s been waiting for. No longer staring at the barrel of the firearm, Eve takes three long strides just as the man understands his mistake and tries to aim for her again. But Oksana, despite the blood obviously pouring from her right arm, grabs his hand and prevents him from shooting Eve. The bullet goes straight to the wall and, a second later, Eve buries one knife in the shooter’s shoulder which effectively makes him drop the gun, and the other knife finds the tender flesh of his side, beneath his ribcage. Stunned by the sudden turn of events, the assassin can only watch the knives deeply embedded in him.

 

Then, out of the blue, he throws his head back and laughs.

 

“I see why you like her, that one. She’s got spunk! She’d make a great assass—”

 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Villanelle fires once, in his neck, the bullet instantly breaking his spinal cord. Eve is splattered in blood and recoils. She wipes at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt and, when she can finally focus again, sees Villanelle standing up shakily, her left arm holding her right biceps.

 

“I told you to stay on the roof,” she barks, advancing towards Eve with uneven steps.

“If I’d stayed you’d be dead, and then he would have found me and killed me too,” Eve replies, standing her ground.

 

They stare at each other defiantly. Oksana is fuming but Eve suspects it has little to do with her disobeying her order and more with the fact that she’d been bested and had needed rescuing. Sure enough, Villanelle grits her teeth, turns back and kicks the dead man in what’s left of his head.

 

“Stupid fucker,” she growls.

“You’re bleeding,” Eve reminds her. “We should get you patched up and then leave.”

 

A sign that the fight has taken much of her energy is that Villanelle doesn’t even try to protest.

 

__

 

The next hour is basically both of them on autopilot. Eve helps Villanelle out of her shirt—no crude jokes are made—and pours a third of the bottle of disinfectant on the wound, which has the other woman hissing in pain. Eve doesn’t apologize. She works quickly, under Villanelle’s directions. She’s never stitched up anyone before but she’s a fast learner. Then she’s told to have a shower and a change of clothes, and this time she obeys. When she comes out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, she smells gasoline in the house.

 

“Oksana?”

 

Waiting for her turn, Oksana is right outside the bathroom.

 

“Are we burning down the house?”

“Yes. And the asshole’s motorcycle. He’s got no ID, I checked, but the French police will investigate. I don’t want them to find any DNA.”

“Are you sure it’ll work?”

“It will,” she assures as she steps into the bathroom and locks the door. “Go downstairs, leave your stuff. I’ll be down soon.”

 

__

 

Oksana is pale and sweaty, Eve notices as they walk away from the burning house, now a good half-mile in the distance behind them. Must be the blood loss that’s getting to her.

 

“How far’s the car?”

“Not too far now,” Villanelle says.

 

She sounds as exhausted as she looks.

 

“When’s the last time you slept?”

“A couple of days ago. There!”

 

Under the moonlight, the car reveals itself in the night. Eve has never been so glad to see a car in her life. Without a word, Oksana hands her the key and that’s as much of an admission of weakness and trust as Eve will ever get from the mighty assassin. Without a word, Eve slides into the driver’s seat and puts the key in the ignition.

 

“Where to?”

“Just drive north. We’ll need to ditch the car soon.”

“Okay.”

 

Eve has a hundred questions to ask, but Oksana is in a poor state. She needs food and water and sleep. Questions will have to wait.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, it's been forever! Sorry about that. Life sucks at the moment. Anyway, drop me a few words in the comment section to tell me what you think of this one :)

Their first stop is at a gas station, a little over an hour later. Oksana, half-asleep in the passenger seat with a hand on her patched-up wound, doesn’t bat an eye when Eve pulls over.

 

“I’ll just be a minute,” Eve tells her.

 

Villanelle simply watches her go. Eve wastes no time. She heads inside the little shop and, with the little money she has left, she buys water bottles and sandwiches. When she makes it back to the car, Oksana hasn’t moved at all. Eve slides behind the wheel and places the plastic bag on her lap.

 

“Here,” she says as she hands a sandwich to her companion, “eat. It’ll give you some strength.”

 

Oksana scoffs.

 

“This shit? It’ll give me cancer.”

“Oh, well, good to know you’re not too weak to make jokes.”

 

Truth be told, Eve feels a bit relieved. Having Villanelle subdued and quiet when she is usually so full of life is unsettling. She realizes how used she’s become to her quips and crass comments, and after the events of the night, Eve wishes she could hear one of those right now. But Oksana smiles at her, and at the moment, it’s enough. A while later, Villanelle gives her an address near the city of Orléans and promptly falls asleep, leaving Eve to drive all the way with nothing but silence to keep her company.

 

__

 

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get a taste for it?”

 

The question comes out of the blue, while Eve is pacing in the hotel room they’ve rented for the night and Oksana is lying on the bed, eyes shut. Eve turns towards her with a questioning look.

 

“Stabbing people,” Villanelle clarifies.

 

Eve hasn’t even thought about it.

 

“It was self-defense,” she shrugs as she resumes her pacing.

“And when you put that knife into me?”

“What about it?”

“How did it feel?”

 

This is it. The moment Eve’s been dreading ever since Villanelle entered her life again. The _conversation_. Apparently, they’re going to have it. Now.

 

“I regretted it.”

“Not instantly. Come oooon,” Villanelle urges, “tell me how it made you feel! Powerful? Dangerous? _In control_?”

“Yes!” Eve snaps. “All of these. And then I felt like shit.”

 

She sighs and meets Villanelle’s gaze. Eve hates that she still can’t read her companion. She shuffles towards the bed and sits down besides Villanelle, who keeps her eyes trained on Eve’s face, impassible.

 

“Is that how you feel? Powerful and in control?”

“I’m always like that, aren’t I?”

 

Eve scoffs and shoves at her leg.

 

“You didn’t seem very in control last night.”

“Yes, thank God for your stabby little hands,” Villanelle mocks her with an eye-roll.

 

There’s a silence then, until Eve lets out a strangled “I’m sorry.”

 

“For what,” Villanelle pushes.

“Stabbing you.”

 

A car outside honks once, twice, drawing Eve’s attention. Still on high alert, her hands tighten into fists. Villanelle doesn’t even glance at the window, where the curtains are drawn.

 

“I’m not sorry that I killed Bill,” she says quietly.

 

Fury in her eyes, Eve is about to make a scathing remark but Oksana’s hand suddenly on hers stops her and lets the protest die in her throat.

 

“I’m not, because I don’t feel remorse, or regret, or guilt. Not like you. But I think… if I was like you, I would. I would be sorry.”

 

It’s an apology, however unconventional. Eve knows it. She wants to acknowledge it, to at least offer Villanelle an understanding nod, but Bill… Bill… What would he think?

 

“If you were like me, you wouldn’t be a killer in the first place,” she finally says.

“Are you sure about that?”

 

It’s both a rhetorical question and a challenge, and Eve decides to ignore it. She’s exhausted, and not in the mood for an argument.

 

“Sleep,” she orders as she gets up from the bed.

“Sleep with me?”

 

Eve doesn’t need to look at her to know there’s a cheeky smile on Oksana’s face.

 

“I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day so I’ll pass.”

“Will you at least help me out of my clothes?”

 

The request, while meant to make Eve uncomfortable, is genuine. With her wound, Oksana can’t do the simple task by herself. Eve sighs but turns back to face her anyway. She motions for Villanelle to get up and reaches for the hem of her shirt once the other woman is standing in front of her.

 

“I’ve always imagined this to be much sexier,” Oksana confides in a whisper.

“Won’t you shut up,” Eve chastises half-heartedly.

 

It takes a long minute to get rid of the shirt and pants, and Eve can feel how red she’s become. At least this time, Oksana chooses wisely not to tease her.

 

“Alright. I’ll, uh, go take a shower,” Eve tells her as she helps Oksana back into bed.

“Okay.”

“Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t.”

 

And sure enough, when Eve comes back out of the bathroom, Oksana is asleep but the covers on the right side of the bed are pushed back, signaling for Eve to slide underneath them and join her.

 

__

 

There’s a soft knock on the door that startles Eve out of her sleepy state.

 

“Room-service,” a voice announces on the other side.

 

Before she can react, a shadowy figure moves towards the door and opens it. The ray of light coming from the hallway makes Eve squint a little. It’s Oksana, fully dressed and very much awake, who takes the trail of goodies from the room valet and tips him with money Eve doesn’t remember her having. But then Oksana carefully settles the tray on the bed between the two of them and Eve smells fresh coffee and her mouth waters at the sight of croissants, and all thought of money is forgotten.

 

“I didn’t even hear you order anything,” she says as she accepts the cup Oksana hands her.

“You were pretty much dead to the world.”

“Hm. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Could rob a pharmacy for painkillers though.”

“Or I could just buy you some?”

“With what money?”

“Wha—didn’t you tip that guy a minute ago?”

“I stole that from the tip jar downstairs.”

 

Eve can’t even pretend to be shocked. She shrugs and bites into her pastry before washing it down with a sip of coffee.

 

“Fine then. I guess we’re robbing a pharmacy.”

 

The surprised-but-pleased look Villanelle gives her is entirely too satisfying.

 

__

 

In the end, they settle for finding the nearest hospital and Eve is sent on the mission of stealing a box of analgesics while Villanelle waits for her in the car. The cabinets where the medicine is kept will obviously be locked, Eve knows that much, so she doesn’t bother looking for it. Instead, she walks around in hopes of catching the cart of a nurse busy with a patient. It takes her about twenty minutes before she can find what she’s looking for. After that, Eve does her best not to appear suspicious or run out of the hospital.

 

Oksana’s face brightens when she sees Eve coming back to the car.

 

“I knew you could do it,” she says as soon as the driver’s door opens.

“Yeah well… never again. I almost peed myself.”

“Baby.”

“Piss off.”

“Seriously, thank you. I will feel better soon. Then we can start killing those bastards.”

“We’ll see about that.”

 

__

 

“I think I should reach out to Kenny and Elena.”

 

They’ve been driving in silence for close to two hours, heading for the north of France, when Eve decides to share out loud what she’s been thinking about for a while now.

 

“We can’t.”

“I trust them.”

“I don’t.”

“We _need_ them.”

 

Oksana looks away, annoyed. But Eve won’t back down, not this time. She does trust her friends and they must be worried sick about her. Carolyn, she can do without. Elena and Kenny? They’ve become entirely too useful to simply not ask for their help. Oksana will come around.

 

__

“They’re not compromised,” Eve insists, later that day.

“His mother has ties to Russian intelligence.”

“Doesn’t mean he does.”

“If I don’t trust who I’m working with, I usually end up shooting them,” Villanelle shrugs, eyebrows raised, eyes to the side.

“You trusted Konstantin,” Eve points out.

 

That makes Villanelle scoff.

 

“Remind me what happened to him?”

“What I’m trying to say is that even when you trust someone, there’s always the possibility of a betrayal.”

“Let’s talk about Carolyn,” Villanelle says to cut the conversation short.

 

Eve sighs and sits back in her chair. They’ve stopped for a drink in a coffee shop in Amiens, slowly but surely making their way back to England. Villanelle has a pied-à-terre in the city, a small, one-bedroom apartment that is probably meant for a student. Eve wonders what fake ID was used to rent it. Not that it matters, really. What’s important is that there is a bit of money hidden inside, and that they will not have to spend the night in the car.

 

“I don’t know what to think about Carolyn. I’ve been wondering if, maybe… Maybe she is a Keeper.”

 

Oksana looks at her impassively and Eve guesses that she has come to the same conclusion on her own.

 

“I can interrogate her,” the blonde ends up saying.

“With your lack of patience she’ll probably be dead as soon as she refuses to answer your first question.”

 

Eve’s not even joking, but Villanelle smiles, almost proud of that fact.

 

“Look, I know you don’t trust Elena, or Kenny. But you trust me, right?”

“Uh, well, you did stab me once.”

“Stop dicking around,” Eve chides.

“Ugh, fine! Yes, Eve, I trust you. Somewhat.”

“Then trust me on that. I vouch for them.”

“You have very questionable taste in people. Look at who you’re hanging out with. Look at your _husband_ , God, Eve, that _mustache_ —”

“Oh, shut up!”

 

Her reprimand is accompanied by its usual slap on the wrist that Villanelle has come to expect, so much that she doesn’t even move her arm to avoid it.

 

“Okay Eve. Let’s do it your way. Call your little friends. I’ll think of a plan when I’m not starving. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”


	11. Chapter 11

Elena’s shriek almost renders Eve deaf. She has to pull the phone away from her ear for a moment and she smiles.

 

“Calm down maybe?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Elena apologizes quickly, “it’s just that I haven’t heard from you in _forever_ …”

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I can explain. I _will_ explain, since it’s why I’m calling.”

“Oh? Do tell! Where are you?”

 

There’s this nagging doubt in Eve’s mind that won’t leave her alone. Oksana’s impassive stare does not help.

 

“I’m… in Europe.”

“O-kay…” Elena says, clearly noticing the hesitation in Eve’s voice.

“There’s been a new development.”

“About what?”

“The Twelve.”

“Eve… you’re not working on that case anymore. Neither am I, by the way. Still mad about that, too.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry! But it’s not over yet, Elena. They’re coming after me.”

 

Eve’s revelation is followed by a long silence. Oksana raises an eyebrow at her, and Eve has to ask Elena if she’s still on the line.

 

“Yeah I’m here,” Elena says. “I’m just trying to process. The Twelve are after you? How? Why?”

“Beats me. That’s why I’m calling. I need help in figuring it out. You and Kenny—”

“I don’t really see Kenny anymore. He’s found a job elsewhere.”

“Oh? Oh. Well.”

“Look, Eve, I’m lucky I even got back into MI5 after that whole debacle. But the entire team was decimated. No Frank, no Bill, no you… It’s just me now. So as much as I want to help you, I’m not sure what I can do.”

“Could we meet?”

“You won’t even tell me where you are,” Elena points out.

“I’ll give you a place and a time. It’s for safety reasons, okay?”

“Okay, sure.”

“Thank you, thank you! Love you!”

“Love you too and be careful, Eve!”

“Yes mum.”

 

After she hangs up, Eve sighs and hands the phone back to Oksana. Elena sounded genuine, but something still feels odd.

 

“What if someone was listening in on that call,” she wonders out loud.

“If you think they’re monitoring Elena’s phone, we’ll have to send her another one somehow.”

“Yes, we’ll do that. Do you have an idea of where I could meet with her?”

“I’ll think about it on the way. Come on, we need to reach my boat before tonight.”

“Your boat?!”

 

__

 

It’s quite a nice fishing boat, as it turns out. Villanelle hops onto it like she’s done that all her life, whereas Eve struggles to maintain her balance. Villanelle, ever charming, laughs at her instead of offering her a hand.

 

“Piss off,” Eve grumbles as she finally steps onto the boat.

“You will get the hang of it,” Oksana assures her. “I can teach you how to drive it if you want.”

“Well, yeah, might as well.”

“Alright then, sailor. Off we go!”

 

__

 

Surprisingly, Eve is good with boats. Or with this one in particular. Villanelle looks at her with pride, as if she’s just completed a life mission. They’re crossing the Channel, hoping to use the cover of the night to moor safely into the harbor of a small, coastal town in England. Oksana knows the seas, or so she says. Eve can’t be sure if it’s true or bullshit. Anything from the assassin can be fact or made up. It’s been a while since Eve actually gave a fuck.

 

“We’re not too far,” Oksana informs her after a long stretch of silence.

 

The sound of water clapping against the hull is soothing. Eve only wishes it would be warmer outside. Villanelle’s dug up blankets from a trunk that doubles as a stool and thrown one over Eve’s shoulders, but the ambient air is still too humid for her taste.

 

“You should take the wheel,” Eve says. “I’m cold.”

 

Her companion moves so silently and gracefully on that damn boat that Eve doesn’t even hear her approaching. She definitely feels Oksana’s… _assets_ when the younger woman presses against her back and puts her hands on Eve’s, still holding the steering wheel.

 

“There,” she whispers against Eve’s ear. “No more cold.”

 

And indeed, Eve almost considers dropping the blanket.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the new season on the horizon, I realize I need to pick up the pace. Sorry to keep you waiting.

With ease, Villanelle guides the boat into the harbor and maneuvers it to a stop. No lights or other sign of life on deck and Eve wonders if Villanelle’s been here before. Probably.

 

“There’s a hotel just a mile north of here.”

“A mile?!”

“Walking is good for your health, Eve.”

“It’s almost two in the morning. What would be good for my health is sleep.”

“We’ll get to that. Patience.”

“Ugh. I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

 

The memory of Oksana keeping her warm on the boat flashes through Eve’s mind. No, she really doesn’t hate her. But she’ll die before she admits it out loud.

 

__

 

The hotel is atypical. Narrow, built in bricks, it’s nothing like Eve expected. It has a certain charm, and she decides that she likes it. Oksana pushes the door open and there’s a bell ringing, signaling their presence.

 

“Is there even anyone at the front desk at this hour,” Eve asks.

“Always.”

 

Sure enough, an old lady appears a minute later, looking a bit sleepy.

 

“Hello, there. Can I help you?”

“So sorry to come in so late. We were delayed in our trip,” Oksana says in her best British accent. “We were wondering if you had a room available.”

“Of course! May I take a name? And how will you be paying?”

 

Eve glances at Oksana questioningly. They haven’t really thought about that particular issue. But Oksana, imperturbable, extends a hand with a few bills in it.

 

“That should cover it,” she says with a smile.

“There is enough for breakfast for the both of you,” the lady tells them as she takes count of just how much Villanelle gave her.

“Then we’ll have breakfast! Perfect.”

“Very well. Here’s your key; the room is on the second storey. Have a wonderful night!”

“Thank you so much,” Villanelle with a chirp that is so obviously fake it makes Eve wince. “Come on love,” Villanelle adds as she takes Eve’s hand and all but drags her in the direction of the stairs.

“Was that necessary,” Eve asks when they’re out of earshot.

“Relax, we can have a little bit of fun!”

“How did you even get that money?”

“Had it stashed on the boat.”

“Of course you did.”

 

They make their way to the room quickly, stairs creaking a bit under the weight of them. The room is homely, and the bed is rather large and looks comfortable. Eve almost drools at the sight of it. She’s beyond exhausted.

 

“Take a shower,” Oksana advises her. “You smell of fish.”

“Thanks, you sure know how to make a woman feel special.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

 

__

 

Eve knows. Instinctively, before she opens her eyes, she knows what that warm, comfy pillow is. Still, she’s too content and sleepy to care and she embraces the warmth and the softness. And when she feels a hand playing with her hair, Eve does her best to keep her eyes closed and to go back to sleep. No such luck.

 

“Polastri,” a voice with a thick Russian accent whispers, “wake up, big baby.”

“No,” Eve whines. “S’too early.”

 

The hand is now massaging her scalp and there is no way Eve is moving any time soon.

 

“Breakfast’s almost over…”

“Fuck breakfast…”

“You can always get your face in my tits later, you know.”

 

And just like that, the spell is broken. Eve groans, slaps around until she finds Villanelle’s forehead and reluctantly moves away.

 

“Asshole.”

“Did you sleep well,” Oksana asks with a smirk. “You left a bit of drool on my shirt—”

“Shut up and get dressed. I’m starving.”

 

__

 

Eve starts wondering where the hell they’re headed mid-afternoon, after Villanelle offers a non-committal hum when she asks her if they’re making their way back to London. They need a plan, and if Oksana has somehow come up with one, she’s not sharing. Eve’s not very familiar with rural England, and the rain on the windshield of the car they stole an hour earlier makes it look oh so grim. She sighs.

 

“What?” Oksana asks her, glancing at Eve.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About Niko?”

“What? No.”

“Oh?”

“No, I just want to know where we’re going and when we’ll make contact with Elena.”

“Soon,” Oksana promises.

 

__

 

True to her word, Villanelle stops the car less than forty minutes later, in the parking lot of a shopping center. There, she says, they’ll be able to buy prepaid phones and new clothes.

 

“Why did you assume I was thinking about Niko earlier?” Eve questions as they reach the entrance of the mall.

“You were pouting.”

“I was so not.”

“You were,” Villanelle assures her. “So naturally I assumed you were thinking of his ugly mug.”

“Niko’s not ugly,” Eve automatically says, on the defensive.

“Okay, Eve. Not ugly.”

 

__

 

It feels like forever ago since Eve bought herself new clothes. She’s never been a fan of fashion so she heads for the first store she sees that seems to sell practical and comfortable clothing. Oksana frowns at this and she looks at the racks of clothes with disdain, but Eve pretends not to notice. She settles for black jeans and a dark green blouse that seems to get her companion’s approval, before they move on to another store where Oksana buys a stylish jumpsuit that has Eve rolling her eyes.

 

“I am on the run, not a peasant,” Villanelle tells her.

“Nothing wrong with peasants.”

 

Villanelle disagrees.

 

__

 

A few bags in hand, Eve and Villanelle walk back to the car and settle in the seats. From the bag she’s holding, Eve pulls out a burner phone.

 

“This will do?”

“Absolutely. Here, eat so we can go,” Villanelle orders as she hands Eve a hot dog with mustard.

 

__

 

Their own burner phone rings at half past ten the next night. Eve, startled, rushes to the nightstand and picks it up.

 

“Hello?”

“It’s me. I received the phone,” Elena’s voice says, somewhat distant.

“Phone quality is shitty,” Eve comments.

“I suppose it will do. What’s going on, Eve? Where are you?”

“I made plans for a car to pick you up tomorrow at 6 p.m, in that hole in the wall where we grabbed drinks with that old creep who was into you, remember?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes I remember. Okay. I’ll be there. How should I know which car is the right one?”

“Trust me. You’ll know. Goodnight Elena.”

“This is all so weird. Goodnight, Eve.”

 

Eve hangs up and throws the phone on the couch. They’re in a small flat on the outskirts of London—a flat that does not belong to either of them. Oksana somehow knew this one was unoccupied at the moment. The owner seems to be a young man in his twenties, and Eve idly wonders if Oksana knows him, and if so, how exactly. Not that it matters, really. It’s just a shelter for the night. Tomorrow, they’ll talk to Elena and come up with a plan to try and discover who’s trying to kill Eve, and why.

 

“What if I don’t come back,” Villanelle asks, stirring Eve out of her thoughts.

“What do you mean,” she responds as she sits on the grey sofa next to Villanelle.

“Elena is going to freak out,” Oksana mocks, her eyes widening comically. “When she sees me she won’t even get in the car.”

“She will, if only because she knows I’m the one asking.”

“Can I scare her a little bit?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“You’re a child. No. She might decide a car accident is better than having to sit in a car with you.”

“I’ll grab the steering wheel very firmly. I have a firm grip. Wanna see?”

 

At that, Villanelle extends her hands towards Eve’s breasts and Eve has to slap them away.

 

“Fuck off.”

“One day, Eve. One day…”

 

And even though she chooses not to reply, deep down there’s a twist in Eve’s guts that tells her, _yes_. _One day_.


End file.
